


Sweet Dreams, My Love

by CiaraK_1996



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 07:54:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20111716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CiaraK_1996/pseuds/CiaraK_1996
Summary: lilliankayl ( https://lilliankayl.tumblr.com/ ): Prompt for you Dearie. Aziraphale starts to sleep in bed with Crowley at night after the apocalypse that never happened because Crowley sometimes has nightmares of the bookstore fire but one night it’s Crowley’s turn to comfort Aziraphale after he has a nightmare?





	Sweet Dreams, My Love

Aziraphale stopped in the doorway. Crowley’s apartment was much nicer that he imagined, not that he did not think Crowley’s flat would be nice, but it was … heavenly. It was stylish which was very much expected, but it was also very white and clean and simple, just like heaven was which surprised Aziraphale the most.

“You okay?” Crowley said handing Aziraphale a glass of wine, he had been so caught up in his thoughts he did not know if the wine was produced from a bottle or a miracle.

“Yes,” Aziraphale stammered, “Of course. I just cannot believe I have never been here before.”

Crowley looked a little … bashful, “Yes well, you always had the better wine.”

Aziraphale sipped his wine, it was fruity and velvety upon the tongue, with just a hint of oak, “The wine’s perfect.”

Crowley shrugged and lounged on the sofa, taking up more room than his slender frame had any right to, sighing as he tried to relax.

There was an awkward silence for a moment, and eventually, Aziraphale sat and sipped at his wine, “Should we go over the plan again?”

Crowley groaned, “If we must.”

“I was just wondering,” Aziraphale said very slowly, thinking about each word as it slipped from his lips, “How we would … switch.”

Even behind the sunglasses, Aziraphale could see Crowley’s frown. Crowley threw back the last of his wine and placed the empty glass on the glass coffee table, “It’s like when I turn into a snake, only with two people. I haven’t done this before, but I think physical contact and concentration should do it.”

“Concentration?” Aziraphale asked, his head struggling against the wine.

Crowley stood as if giving a presentation, and closed his eyes, “I imagine the snake. I feel the scales in my mind. The fangs. And…”

His body writhed for a second and then there was a huge dark snake in his living room. Aziraphale could not help but smile; it was still the best magic trick he had ever seen. Crowley slithered across the floor towards Aziraphale before coiling and shifting back into human form. Standing before Aziraphale, he observed his hands and flexed his fingers, sighing with some relief, “It should be easy for us to change back.”

Aziraphale frowned, thinking of something Crowley said at the hospital earlier this week, “Why are you so worried you’ll remain a snake?”

Crowley looked nervous refilling his glass with a sinful miracle before sitting back down, “It’s not a snake.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s … _me_,” Crowley gulped half the glass down, but the amount of liquid in the glass remained the same, “When … _She_ cast us out we lost our forms. We … we became … some of us remember how we looked _before_ and try our best to mimic it. But our true demonic forms are …”

His voice drifted, this conversation took such a sudden and dark turn that Aziraphale was for once at a loss for words. He became aware that his mouth was hanging open and promptly shut it, “I see.”

Aziraphale frowned, he wanted to convey his understanding, but the two short words came out too harsh for his liking. Crowley kept drinking from his never-emptying glass. Aziraphale thought frantically about something to talk about, which lead to another long and awkward silence.

“I’m going to bed,” Crowley said suddenly rising to his feet, he then wobbled unsteadily before hurling himself towards the hallway.

Aziraphale, watched him leave and sulked. Crowley had some lovely books on the shelves on the far wall and he found an old tome to read as he waited for dawn and for Crowley to wake. He was over a hundred pages in when he heard screaming. He ran toward the sound, not worrying about the wine that he had spilt on the book and the sofa. He simply ran. He burst through the door to find Crowley writhing, tangled in his bedsheets. Aziraphale released a sigh of relief and then Crowley screamed again. If Aziraphale were mortal he would have described it as causing his blood to freeze in his veins, his stomach dropping, and his heartbreaking at the awful sound. But Aziraphale was ethereal, he felt his celestial light was being consumed by a black hole, a hole he would gladly fall down in order to rescue his best friend.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale called cautiously, he didn’t want to startle him, but he needed to wake him from whatever was happening to him. He stood beside the bed, Crowley was sweating, which he did not realise celestial beings could do, his face contorted in pain and his eye firmly closed. He lay a hand on his clammy head and the writhing slowed to a stop, “Crowley?”

Crowley did not wake, but his breathing calmed, and his face softened, he looked almost peaceful. Aziraphale brushed as strand of hair and stepped away. Crowley let out a small sob, which shattered Aziraphale’s being. He turned back sharply and removed his jacket, there was space enough for two after all. He lay beside him, and in the gloom, he watched over him.

Hours passed before Aziraphale could see Crowley begin to wake. He stood, retrieved his jacket and left. He observed the dark stain on the sofa and the dried puddle of crimson wine on the floor. The book was ruined, and the glass had smashed in his haste. Aziraphale bit his lip guiltily and snapped his fingers. The stains vanished, the book was as it was, and the glass was whole, clean and back in the cabinet. Aziraphale resumed his position he had been in before Crowley screamed and pretended to read. Crowley stumbled through dishevelled and half awake, Aziraphale almost glowed at the sight.

“Morning,” He said softly, “Sleep well?”

Crowley didn’t reply but a soft smile playing on his lips. He walked to the kitchenette and started making some coffee, when he returned into Aziraphale’s view he was dressed in skinny black jeans, a dark grey t-shirt, black waistcoat, a black jacket, leather shoes, and has even hidden his sleepy snakelike eyes behind a pair of sunglasses.

“Morning,” He grumbled, “What are you reading?”

Aziraphale looked at the copy of _Paradise Lost_ and shrugged, “Nothing I haven’t read before, though I enjoyed your corrections and annotations.”

Crowley smirked and rubbed his neck and Aziraphale worried, “Are you sure you slept alright?”

“Yeah, nothing unusual really,” He mumbled, Aziraphale felt crushed, _nightmares are normal for you?_

“That’s good,” Aziraphale muttered with a forced smile.

They sat in silence as Crowley finished his coffee and then he stood and gestured Aziraphale do the same, “Right,” He said with heavy reluctance, “We need to concentrate on each other, enough to morph into to one another.”

Aziraphale felt a little warm and lightheaded as his thoughts drifted to Crowley’s body; the way his eyes caught the light, his slender fingers, the red of his hair, the pink of his lips… Aziraphale dismissed the thoughts before they developed into something, _else_. He looked at his best friend, his only friend and concentrated on him. He concentrated on who Crowley was, how he smiled, how he walked, everything. He dismissed his emotions, that would confuse the process, just him. _I need to save him_, he thought, _I must save him_. He gave Crowley a small smile to indicate he was ready.

Crowley held out his hand as if to shake hands, “Alright then.”

Aziraphale took his hand and nothing happened, they frowned. Crowley closed his eyes though Aziraphale could not see.

“We…” Aziraphale started suddenly and then hesitated, but he had Crowley’s attention now who was staring at him over his dark glasses.

“What?”

“We need to let go of who we are,” Aziraphale muttered, “Surrender.”

Crowley looked a little uncomfortable and then with a sigh they watched their appearances melt, blur, and switch hands. Aziraphale found it oddly easy giving himself to Crowley, he had his heart already so what difference was it to give him his body. Though he was quite certain this was not what humans meant when they said things like that, after all humans could not trade skins or change their shape at will. His whole body tingled, and he looked down at his hands and the long slender fingers. He looked up, over the sunglasses that were suddenly on his face, at Crowley only to see himself. Crowley smiled, but it was wrong on Aziraphale’s face.

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, slightly startled by Crowley’s voice coming from his throat, “I don’t smile like that, dear.”

“And I don’t say ‘dear’, angel.” He retorted, he suddenly straightened his spine and held his head with dignity, “Get thee behind me, foul fiend.”

They hesitated a moment before laughing uncontrollably, “Oh dear!” Aziraphale!Crowley said gasping for breath, “This is going to be harder than I thought.”

They took two hours to get over the novelty. Crowley!Aziraphale was attempting to walk like Aziraphale and struggling.

“You’re moving your hips too much,” Aziraphale!Crowley insisted, “Smaller movements.”

Crowley!Aziraphale slumped, a very unnatural look in Aziraphale’s skin, but was so delightfully Crowley, “Alright, you try!”

Aziraphale!Crowley stood and sauntered sultrily to the far wall and back again, he stopped in front of Crowley, tilting his head with a cheeky smile, and spreading his arms waiting as if to stay _‘Ta-da! Easy!’_

Crowley!Aziraphale frowned and visibly ate his words, “Well fuck!”

“Come on, dear,” Aziraphale!Crowley said suddenly shifting into the angel’s usual demeanour, “You’re just thinking too much. And don’t swear.”

Crowley!Aziraphale gave him a warm, bright smile, then spoke with as much sarcasm as he could muster, “Thank you, dear.”

He took four more attempts before it was good enough, in the end Crowley was far stiffer and more proper than Aziraphale ever walked but it was better and Aziraphale showed genuine support. He was aware that his swagger was not quite right, either.

“Now I just need to talk like you, dear,” Crowley!Aziraphale smiled and little too sinful for the angel’s face.

“Come here, angel,” Aziraphale!Crowley said, he thought about words like that before being directed at him in a very adult manner and locked those thoughts away. Crowley!Aziraphale’s face fell and Aziraphale forgot he was trying to be a demon, “Crowley? What’s wrong.”

Crowley!Aziraphale shook his head, “Nothing.”

The penny dropped, “They’re going to think you’re an angel. They’re going to drag you to Heaven. Are you going to be alright?”

“Better Heaven than Hell,” Crowley!Aziraphale said solemnly.

“I think it’s going to be fun, actually,” Aziraphale!Crowley retorted, “I’ve never been to Hell, but you have … _history_ with Heaven. You’re just seeing it through my eyes.”

“Rose tinted then?” Crowley!Aziraphale teased, displaying Aziraphale’s usual cockiness with uncanny ease.

Aziraphale!Crowley pulled a disgusted face, “What! No!”

Crowley!Aziraphale smiled, “Oh, come on dear, they _love_ you.”

Aziraphale!Crowley scoffed, “No, they really don’t. Hell thinks you’re doing wonderfully. Heaven’s is mostly annoyed I still exist … even _more_ annoyed now.”

Crowley!Aziraphale frowned and decided against further dispute, “Breakfast?”

Aziraphale!Crowley almost smiled, before remembering himself, “Better not, we should … give Heaven and Hell an opportunity. If you’re still here at one, we’ll meet at the park. Think of something later”

Crowley!Aziraphale nodded, “I’ll see you later.”

Aziraphale stood in Crowley’s flat, wearing Crowley’s face and clothes, hoping beyond everything he would see him again.

*** * ***

“So how was Gabriel?” Aziraphale asked as they left the Ritz, “You never said.”

Crowley sighed, “A complete arse! He wanted you to kill yourself.” Crowley stopped suddenly, realising too late how much he was saying.

Aziraphale shrugged, “I did tell you they didn’t like me.”

Crowley looked miserable, “I was so angry, they’re angels, they’re supposed to be nice…”

“What did you do?” Aziraphale asked, only slightly concerned.

“What?”

“You _did_ something,” Aziraphale said firmly, putting his fork back on his plate and giving the demon his undivided attention, “What did you do?”

Crowley shrugged and tried to avoid the question, “Oh, well … I may have … breathed fire at them …”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and gave him that bashfully doting smile, “Are they alive?” He did not sound like he cared about them, only mildly concerned and just a little sly.

“Yes,” Crowley sighed, “Just a little terrified.”

They laughed and talked back to Aziraphale’s bookshop. Crowley was as happy as the angel at the sight of it and jumped up to hold the door open for him. They spent half the night drinking and talking about the future, now that they had one.

“You know,” Aziraphale said slowly, fighting against the lethargic effect of the alcohol, “I’ve never been to Alpha Centauri.”

Crowley seemed to perk up a little, “Oh?”

“Mh,” Aziraphale nodded, “I was in offices before Earth … tax, celestial wages, and so on. It was awful.”

Crowley was smiling, “I made stars.”

Aziraphale’s face softened, eyes wide in wonder. Crowley had never talked about his time as an angel, not ever, and Aziraphale never asked in fear of upsetting him. He composed himself and tried not to push too far, “Alpha Centauri?”

Crowley nodded, his gaze distant, “Well! Not _alone_. There were lots of us_ss_, making stars and planets and comets. Raphael directed us and we built. I did make something … on my own.”

Crowley leapt to his feet and walked to a shelf on astronomy. Aziraphale watched in wonder as he returned with a massive book and an equally massive grin. Aziraphale watched as Crowley found the correct page and handed the book to view the page, there was a colourful cloud of youthful stars and the words _Orion Nebula_.

Aziraphale was stunned and glowing, “It’s _gorgeous_!”

Crowley shrugged, apathetic and utterly disinterested, “It’s alright.”

Aziraphale looked back at the image before him, and smiled, “It’s amazing! It must have taken you an eternity.”

Before time was invented it was hard to measure existence; ‘a while’ might translate to a few hours or a few days, ‘quite a while’ might be considered a few weeks, ‘a long time’ usually meant less than a modern year, but more than a few months and ‘an eternity’ often translated to that feeling one gets when you realise something happened three decades ago, or in celestial terms that could also be a few centuries. It was hard to measure time before days and nights were invented, they just worked constantly until reality changed. The first days on Earth were closer to a week in modern terms, not that the first humans minded, and time seemed to speed up, but nothing truly compared to the existence before time.

Crowley shrugged again and pouted, “I don’t recall.”

Aziraphale stopped pushing, but cherished this little jewel of information, it was rare to learn something new about someone he had known for so long and to learn something so perfect was overwhelming. Aziraphale met his gaze, keeping on the topic but diverting the conversation slightly to keep Crowley comfortable, “I’ve never _made_ anything.”

Crowley looked a little surprised, “Well _that_ was a long time ago.”

“True,” Aziraphale allowed, “But it’s still there, shining in the sky. I just,” He waved a hand indicating at the books, “I just collect things other people make.”

“I collect s-sssouvenirs,” Crowley half slurred, and half hissed, refilling his glass glumly.

Aziraphale set the book aside, “I’d like to visit the stars sometime, though. I’ve never been anywhere but Heaven and Earth … and of course Hell, not as warm as I thought it would be.”

Crowley smiled lazily, “It’s dank and humid, isn’t it?”

“Hm,” Aziraphale agreed, “Heaven’s cold, not too unpleasant, but lacking in all warmth and comfort.”

Crowley nodded, “Space is cold too.”

“But stars are warm,” Aziraphale offered, Crowley had been so insistent in running away that it hurt Aziraphale to refuse, but now that Earth was safe, and they were free, he had no reason to say no.

Crowley shrugged, his eyes were heavy, and he sank deeper into the sofa, “I might have a nap, if that’s alright?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale smiled and watched as Crowley slipped easily into sleep. Aziraphale had never understood his want to sleep, but watching him slumber so peacefully, with all hurt, anger, and rage subsiding into bliss was absolutely mesmerising. Aziraphale watched him for longer than he should have before fetching a blanket Crowley didn’t need and laying it over his slender frame to protect him from the cold he could not feel. Aziraphale reclaimed his comfy armchair and grabbed a book he was rereading for the three hundredth time, but instead of looking at the yellowed pages, he stared at the demon in front of him.

What were they now? Allies? Friends? _More_? They had defied Heaven and Hell, mocked them and openly rebelled, and when they tried to destroy them, they tricked them and terrified them into leaving them alone. It was the two of them against the universe and that made Aziraphale warm and fuzzy inside and freeze with fear at the same time. His mind wandered back to the astrology book beside him and he opened it to view the nebula again. Even on a glossy page, it was breath-taking, he wondered how it would feel to float amongst the celestial clouds of stars with Crowley. Unbidden he wondered about the angel Crowley had been if he had looked different, if he had been as he was now. Aziraphale decided he did not like the idea of Crowley being like all the other angels, Crowley was Crowley and should never be forced to be anything else. He looked back at the sleeping demon and thought of the nightmare he had witnessed the night before. Did he dream of when he was an angel? Did he scream as he remembered his Fall?

Crowley shuddered and Aziraphale stiffened. _He had said he slept alright_, he reminded himself, _he said it was normal_. He frowned as Crowley appeared more distraught, trying to decide on what to do.

Crowley whined and whimpered when Aziraphale decided on what to do. He knew from experience it was hard to wake Crowley, he had tried an 1838 and again in 1853 with no success. He hated forcing himself inside the mind of another being, it was a gift for planting dreams and covert messages of goodwill, but it always felt so _rude_. Aziraphale took a deep breath and placed a hand on Crowley’s forehead and closed his eyes searching. When he opened his eyes, the bookshop was engulfed in flames. It was uncomfortably realistic, and he had to constantly remind himself that it was a dream, no, a memory.

“Aziraphale! Aziraphale!” Crowley was screaming, something about his movements suggested he was stuck in the same few moments, unable to move past this scene in his life, “Where the Heaven are you? You idiot. Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale watched the nightmare and wondered exactly how much of it was a memory. The flames were so terribly hot, but Crowley did not seem to care.

He paced around the shop, “For Go- for Sa- for _SOMEBODY’S_ SAKE, where are you?!”

There were emotions too, heavy in the air like the thick black smoke; fear, anger, grief.

“Crowley, wake up.” Aziraphale called out, but his words were lost as a window smashed and a jet of water threw Crowley to the ground.

Crowley sat back up, numb against the world. He was a mess from the ash, smoke and water, his glasses had been knocked off his face. His yellow snake-like eyes scanned the ruins around him, sparkling in the flames, his voice was a broken whisper, “Aziraphale?”

The angel could feel the pure heart wrenching hurt choking his voice, “Right. I’m done. I’ve had it. I don’t care about any bloody angels or humans or anyone. I hate you all!”

He chocked on the last words and sat there, motionless. For a moment Aziraphale thought the flames would burn him alive. Then his face changed, there were tears falling from his hate-filled eyes, “Someone killed my best friend! BASTARDS! ALL OF YOU!”

Crowley got up and nearly left the shop, but the scene began to play again. Crowley was repeating himself, getting more and more upset. More and more certain Aziraphale was dead and never coming back. Aziraphale shouldn’t be here, he had lingered too long, but he couldn’t leave him, “Crowley, wake up!”

Aziraphale was kneeling beside Crowley who was suddenly awake, “Are you alright?”

Crowley blinked, “What? Yes. What are you doing?”

Aziraphale felt his cheeks redden slightly as he stood and retreated to a polite distance, “You were yelling, I was concerned.”

“’S_ss_ nothing,” Crowley shook his head trying to adjust to the rude awakening, “Just a dream.”

“A bad one?” Aziraphale knew the answers but he was not going to tell Crowley he had crossed _that_ line when he was already in a bad mood.

“Just a dream,” Crowley huffed, “Nothing unusual. I’m just tired.”

He looked tired too, which was impressive for a being that did not need to sleep or rest. Aziraphale looked legitimately candid, “Well I have never slept. I’m not sure what normal looks like. You seemed distressed.”

Crowley shrugged, he looked sleepily annoyed, “I sleep. Sometimes dream. Sometimes I ever get woken up by a panicking angel.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and rested on an expression of annoyance and contempt, “You said sleep was peaceful. _That_, was not peaceful.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and stretched.

Suddenly Aziraphale had a terrible idea, “You could always use the bed upstairs.”

Crowley froze.

Aziraphale decided it was too late to take the words back, “This old sofa cannot be very comfortable, you can use the bed.”

Crowley didn’t move or say anything, and Aziraphale conjured a quick miracle to remove the dust and freshen the sheets. With a little more thought on the matter he then removed all signs of tartan, crochet, lace, and anything else he thought Crowley might dislike. In the end, the unused bedroom looked rather plain, with soft, warm, blue sheets and plain wooden furniture.

Crowley seemed to decide suddenly, “Nah, I’ll, um, I should head home.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale whispered a little too obviously disappointed, “It’s perfectly alright for you to stay.”

Crowley gave a small smile, “Thanks for the offer. See you tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale muttered after him, something about watching the demon leave left a dark empty hole in his soul. _I should be used to him leaving by now_, he thought bitterly and then softened, _but he always comes back_.

Aziraphale tried reading, then he tried reorganising his filing system. In the end he was standing on the roof of his shop looking towards the Orion constellation. He had always liked the stars, some part of him had wished he had help make them. As an angel, humans always assumed that he must have known God personally, created stars, fought Lucifer, or guided saints and so on. What had Aziraphale done? Failed to keep demons out of Eden, lost his sword, got demoted, ordered to carry out mundane miracles that no one ever checked, failed to do his job in nearly every way, he- Aziraphale looked away, back to the streetlights and the dull hum of the city. He willed his thoughts back into their boxes and locked them away. He looked back up to Orion, “He’s not bad,” He pleaded to anyone listening, “He never deserved to fall. How could you do that to him?”

Aziraphale looked East to see the first signs of the sun’s precious rays illuminate the sky leaving London’s horizon black against the violet sky. Sunrise was always beautiful, but this morning Aziraphale felt a tense sense of sorrow at losing sight of Crowley’s stars. He watched as the deep blue sky became violet, and them orange just before the bright yellow sun illuminate the city in brilliant light. The rest of the sky settled on it’s usual pale blue and drowned out all the pale stars that Aziraphale had begun to love. The angel looked at the roof and pondered.

Crowley sauntered up to Aziraphale in St James’ park around eleven o’clock.

“Sleep well?” Aziraphale asked, genuinely concerned but trying to make it sound like small talk.

Crowley shrugged, “As good as always.”

Aziraphale began worrying again, trying to dismiss visions of him screaming in anguish, trapped in a never-ending nightmare. He faked a smile, “That’s good, just as long as you don’t sleep for another century.”

“Can’t get into trouble that way,” Crowley argued with a faint smile upon his lips.

Aziraphale smiled warmly back, truthfully, “That may be true, but who would get _me_ out of trouble?”

They laughed a little, it was strange being allowed to be so open. Aziraphale thought back bitterly to all the times he had to correct people, correct himself, constantly saying they were not friends, that they were not acquaintances, that he didn’t like him. Now he was free to show his affections that he had been too terrified and too ashamed to admit. It felt good.

They did the usual routine, talk in the park, lunch at the British Museum café, a visit to a theatre to watch whatever they were showing this week, then a fancy restaurant for dinner, drinks at Aziraphale’s, and then Crowley would leave with some excuse. Aziraphale felt some energy leave him, he felt cold and alone as the demon left him alone. Aziraphale fumbled with his hands then returned to the roof to stare at the stars.

*** * ***

He did not need to sleep, but he enjoyed it. It was like being dead, no worry, no Hastur, just bliss. He enjoyed sleeping so much he had missed most of the 18th century and had to ask Aziraphale what bad things had happened so he could claim they were his doing and was too busy to write or visit. Recently, however, Crowley was beginning to struggle. He couldn’t sleep the night before the apocalypse and instead asked Aziraphale to run away with him. The angel said no. When he found out Hell knew he had lost the Antichrist he had driven to Aziraphale’s shop and in front of everyone asked him again. He had killed Ligur and trapped Hastur and drove straight back to Aziraphale.

Crowley sighed and rubbed his head, no matter how bad things had been the hardest part was always that fire. He was driving home having left Aziraphale safe in his bookshop, he should never have fallen asleep in front of the angel, especially since he had been sleeping so bad the last few nights. He was thinking, and every time he thought; he thought of the fire. He tried to think of new ways of pissing off Londoners, ways to murder Hastur, and ways to murder Gabriel. He wondered vaguely if Adam was okay, he thought of Warlock often, he tried to remind himself that Aziraphale was alive and well, but his mind always returned to the _fire_. He screeched to a halt outside his apartment building, he took the lift to his flat and slammed the door shut. He picked up the plant mister and hissed at his plants, “What is wrong with me?”

The plants shuddered.

“I’ve had nightmares before,” He reasoned, “They just … happen sometimes. But why this one?”

He stopped to glower at a leaf, it looked ever so slightly yellow. He eventually let go of the shaking plant and continued spraying them.

“He was not dead-dead,” He continued, “He was discorporated, but not _dead_. He didn’t…”

He stopped, he had spent so long drowning his feelings in hatred, anger, and an awful amount of alcohol. However, that magazine he had kept from 1972 told him that the first step to deal with a problem was to admit there was a problem, to speak the truth.

“He didn’t _leave me_,” He whispered, tears welling in his eyes and his voice straining with the effort. His entire body slumped facing the large window that gave his plants as much daylight as they ever needed, “I thought … only for a moment … that he’d …”

He took a shaky breath and found a little courage, “I thought he’d chosen,” He glanced at the sky, “_them_.”

He spun round to face his plants, with forced joy, “But he _didn’t_! He chose … Earth and he _stayed_.”

But the pain was not leaving him, and he stormed out angrily, “So why the fuck can’t I _sleep_!”

*** * ***

Aziraphale was still staring up at the stars with a fond smile on his lips when he felt that dark, heavy, emptiness in his heart. Not that he had a heart in the sense humans did, he had never really understood how humans still thought an emotion exuded from a muscle that was nothing more than a pump. He realised now that in a human body the heart was simply physically where the centre of a soul was in their bodies, not that he had a human soul either, but something in the core of his very being was causing him pain and it was approximately where his heart was. Eventually, he decided to go for a walk and found himself outside Crowley’s apartment building.

_I should call_, he thought as he glanced at the intercom system, he opened the doors that forgot they were supposed to be locked. He found himself outside Crowley’s flat, _I should knock_.

Gingerly he opened the door and slowly entered the pristine flat. Aziraphale’s mind was swimming with potential excuses for his intrusion when he spotted no fewer than five empty bottles that had recently contain strong red wine on the floor and then spotted a couple of empty bottles of whiskey on the kitchen counter. He instantly walked towards the bedroom but found the bed empty.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale called, forgetting he was not supposed to be there, “Crowley?”

He checked the flat again, saying hello to the plants before continuing his search, and then realised there was a door he had not opened, “Crowley?”

Behind the door was a bathroom. There were three more empty bottles on the floor which clinked loudly as Aziraphale accidentally kicked one across the tiled floor. He cringed at the sound and moved further into the room, “Crowley?”

The demon was in the bathtub and passed out from the excessive amounts of alcohol. Aziraphale gasped and rushed to him, knocking another bottle across the floor.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted at him, shaking him in an attempt to wake him, “CROWLEY!”

He could feel the effects of the alcohol, but he could feel the despair it was trying to drown. Aziraphale struggled to pull the demon from the bathtub and they fell to the floor, the angel gripping him tightly.

“Crowley, dear, wake up,” He pleaded, “Please!”

He then remembered he was an angel and removed some of the alcohol from Crowley’s body, it was trickier than purging oneself but not impossible; it was not unlike curing someone of a disease or infection, and alcohol was poison after all. He then miracled them to Crowley’s bedroom and changed Crowley’s clothes for some soft pyjamas, after a moment he decided charcoal-grey was a better colour on him than blue tartan. He looked better, but the misery seeping from his soul seemed stronger. Aziraphale left to fetch a chair so as to watch over him and when he returned Crowley was writhing and whimpering in the bed.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale dropped the chair and rushed to the demon, his touch seemed soothing to him, “Oh my dear, what are you doing to yourself.”

Aziraphale looked at the chair and then it vanished, he brushed his fingers soothingly through his fiery red hair. Aziraphale looked at him affectionately and carefully lay on the bed beside him, Crowley seemed to melt against him and Aziraphale held him tightly, wishing he could take away the demon’s pain. He _could_ take away his pain, fill his mind with pleasant dreams, but Aziraphale decided against it, Crowley would never heal if an angel snapped his fingers to make it go away, he had to trust that the demon would tell him eventually. So, the angel stayed, embracing a demon as he slept, watching over him. Crowley seemed calmer, safer, when Aziraphale was there. He would whimper a few times and instinctively Aziraphale’s reaction was to stroke his face and whisper soothing words until he rested again. Dawn was slowly approaching and Aziraphale could feel Crowley crawling from his deep, sedated slumber. Aziraphale carefully removed his arms from around the demon and hesitated; he was still asleep. Aziraphale leaned down and kissed Crowley’s brow,_ a good ending couldn’t hurt_. The angel snapped his fingers and he was back on the roof of his bookshop, glancing up at the fading stars.

*** * ***

Crowley had been suffering from bad dreams since the fire. Not all his nightmares were of books burning and screaming his angel’s name. Sometimes he was falling, hurtling towards Hell. Sometimes he saw Aziraphale falling instead and that was worse. Sometimes he saw Gabriel smugly destroying the only thing he cared about. However, recently the nightmares were fading almost before they began and he felt a strange comfort as if surrounded in a protective blanket that was warm, kind, and loving. Some nights he even had pleasant dreams.

He could feel wakefulness pulling at him and groaned; he didn’t want to wake, when he woke, he lost that sense of warmth. However, as he woke the warmth did not leave him. As his body began to wake, he leaned into the blissful glow, wanting more, he stopped and tried to figure out what his arms were wrapped around. Slowly he opened his eyes and then stopped breathing as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

“Aziraphale?” He whispered, forcing himself to breathe again. He could smell him, warm cocoa, old books, and something _divine_.

The angel stirred slightly; he was surprisingly asleep. Crowley smiled, it was so innocent and lovely, he felt like his heart was going to burst. Yet some part of him thought that he should avoid the situation, he did not want to ruin their relationship by doing something reckless. _He’s in my bed_, he reasoned with himself, _he’s the one who did something reckless, I need to take the next step_.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley called sweetly, his arms were around the angel’s waist and he head had been resting beneath the angel’s chin. He could not move if he wanted to because Aziraphale’s arms were wrapped tightly about his shoulders. Crowley suddenly felt the urge to kiss him and had to fight it, that might be a step too far, a little too fast.

“Angel,” He whispered softly, the angel stirred and tightened around the demon. A small groan escaped his lips as he woke from his slumber, which Crowley tried desperately not to think about.

Suddenly his bright blue eyes were open, staring at him.

“Morning,” Crowley whispered with a smile.

“M-morning,” Aziraphale said slowly, his face reddening from embarrassment but he made no attempt to let go of the demon, nor the other way around.

“I thought you said you didn’t sleep,” Crowley muttered, a little light-hearted pillow talk couldn’t hurt, he thought to himself, trying desperately to figure out exactly why Aziraphale was in his bed.

“Oh, um …” Aziraphale’s blush deepened as he stammered for answers, “I-I um, don’t intend to … fall asleep.”

Crowley arched a brow, “You just intended to watch _me_ sleep?”

Aziraphale seemed to panic now and in truth it was beautiful; the way his cheek reddened, the way his pale eyelashes fluttered, the way his hands clung to the back of Crowley’s shirt. Aziraphale seemed to finally come to an answer, “I just w-wanted to … make sure you were alright ...”

A warm invisible snake coiled around Crowley’s heart, he could stay like this forever, but if he didn’t chase the matter now they would slip back into their casual friendship without ever finding out if it could have been more, “Why would I not be alright?”

Aziraphale released a needlessly shaky breath, “You have been having nightmares.”

Crowley frowned, control leaving him, “How do you…? _Having_? Exactly how long have you been in my bed?”

Aziraphale looked terrified, “Um … I, uh … about two … weeks?”

Crowley’s mouth dropped, he tried to make sense of what he was hearing, but didn’t want the scare the angel away, “So… since the world didn’t end?”

He felt Aziraphale tense beneath his arms and felt the angel loosen his grip. _Too far_, Crowley sighed, _too fast_. He let the angel go but his heart fluttered when he made no attempt to leave the bed.

“Well, after you had that nightmare. In the shop,” Aziraphale stammered, not letting on that he had entered Crowley’s sleeping mind, “I was worried. You seemed distraught, but you wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. You’re calmer when I’m here.”

“I don’t have nightmares, Angel,” Crowley protested feebly; fears were weaknesses, and weaknesses could be exploited.

Aziraphale sighed and pulled away sitting on the side of the bed, “I’m sorry, how foolish of me.”

“Angel wait,” Crowley whispered, but is was too late, he was alone in his bedroom, watching the first rays of morning creep through in window. Crowley felt a hollowness being carved out of his chest, a warmth lost, he felt alone. Slowly he crawled from his bed and reached for his phone, dialling Aziraphale’s number, only to listen to it ring. Eventually, he gave up. Sitting on the floor staring at the wall in numb contemplation. His thoughts spiralling towards regret and self-loathing; _why do I always ask too many questions?_

*** * ***

Aziraphale paced the roof terrace of his bookshop, watching London being bathed in golden light. He stopped when he thought he heard a phone ringing, but the traffic was picking up and he could not be sure. He resumed pacing.

“So _stupid_,” He muttered to himself, “He’s a demon!”

_We’re on our own side_, He thought suddenly and stopped again and sighed. There was a weight in his gut, he had read enough descriptions to guess the feeling was nausea. His superfluous heart was deafening and yet he could not bring himself to make it stop. He paced, and thought, and cursed himself until the sun was setting in the west.

“Oh, dear,” He murmured, frowning and cursing himself again, “I meant to call him.”

He walked downstairs and looked at the phone, then snapped his fingers. The apartment was quiet and there were no lights on. Angels could not see in the dark as well as demons could, but certainly better than any human; he looked around for signs of the demon.

“Crowley?” He called, swallowing his own fears, “Are you here?”

He walked into the bedroom to find most of the furniture had been overturned and a demon facing the large windows, staring at the stars. Crowley seemed to be shaking, clutching a glass bottle.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale said softly, the demon stopped shaking, he stopped breathing too. Aziraphale wrung his fingers and approached him, “I’m sorry about this morning. I … panicked.”

Crowley stared, unblinking at the night sky, his jaw was clenched as if fighting back words. Aziraphale brushed his fingers against the demon’s damp cheeks and sighed.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale thought for a moment, “Look at me.”

Crowley did so instantly, his eyes were entirely snake-like, not a hint of white and around the edges the yellow turned to orange and red. He still was not breathing, but Aziraphale could feel his thudding heart beneath his fingers.

Aziraphale forced a small smile, “Do you want to go to sleep?”

Crowley stared blankly before he found some meaning behind his words and nodded. The angel helped him to his unsteady feet, he clicked his fingers and the room righted itself once more. Crowley buried his face in his pillow an let out a shuddering breath as Aziraphale took off his jacket and sat on the other side of the bed.

Crowley gave him a curious glance, “You don’t have to stay.”

“Of course, I do,” Aziraphale whispered softy, and watched as Crowley slipped into sleep. He lay beside him, watching his face relax as his sleep deepened and then he felt that familiar sting as a nightmare began to develop. Aziraphale shifted closer, wrapping an arm around the demon, balancing out the demon’s darkness with his own light.

He was not aware he had fallen asleep, somehow the visions before him seemed logical and real, despite being utterly illogical. He was in his bookshop, and it was raining outside, thunder and lightning had always amazed him, ever since the first storm.

“It’s just rain, angel,” Crowley sighed, “You’ve been watching it for the past hour.”

“It’s beautiful,” Aziraphale protested, “And utterly unpredictable.”

He sipped at his fifth cup of cocoa and counted the time between the flash and the thunder. _Five seconds, _he thought, _it’s getting closer._

“Unpredictable, huh?” Crowley muttered, and suddenly he was behind him, arms around his belly and chin upon his shoulder, “I can be unpredictable.”

“And you are beautiful too,” Aziraphale whispered, kissing his head.

Another flash.

_Knock. Knock._

Thunder.

They both looked at the door, and suddenly Aziraphale felt afraid. Crowley straightened and kissed his cheek, “I’ll get it.”

Aziraphale stood, frozen, his heart in his throat as he watched for an unseen terror. The sort was getting closer. Crowley opened the door. There were angels outside, none were seemingly wet from the deluge.

“You’ve been asking too many questions,” Uriel spat.

“Fraternizing with the enemy,” Sandalphon sneered.

Michael stepped closer, “You don’t deserve these wings.”

Aziraphale watched as Crowley screamed and his white wings burned to black. Aziraphale tried to move, but his legs were made of stone, all he could do was scream.

Gabriel was suddenly beside Crowley, pinching his jaw and smiling, “Even a damned existence is too kind.”

Gabriel gave him a shove into the rain, the lightning was violent, and the deafening thunder could not drown out the screams as the holy water melted his flesh.

“_ANGEL!_”

Aziraphale was gasping for air his lungs did not need, his flesh felt clammy and cold, and yet his bones felt as there were aflame. Crowley held him as he wept and wake fully from his nightmare, whispering sweet comforts into his hair. At times Aziraphale almost calmed only to sob again as the nightmare resurfaced in his mind.

“O-ow,” Aziraphale stammered, rubbing his burning cheek which he had only just noticed.

Crowley tightened embrace, “Sorry, angel. I couldn’t wake you.”

“Did you _hit_ me?” Aziraphale gasped, realising why he was in pain.

Crowley pulled back, “Angel, you smashed my window.”

Aziraphale looked over his shoulder, a strong breeze billowing through the curtains and glass covered the floor.

“I-I did?”

Crowley cupped his face, “You complain about my nightmares. And then _you_ summoned a _storm_. A bolt of lightning smashed through the window and set fire to my wardrobe.”

Aziraphale glanced at the charred remains of Crowley’s wardrobe and groaned, “Sorry, dear.”

“What were you dreaming about?” Crowley whispered softly, rubbing a thumb over his cheek to wipe away Aziraphale’s tears, “Angel, tell me.”

Aziraphale stared into Crowley’s eyes, his vision almost crossed because he was so close, “Tell me yours.”

Crowley gave a small nod, “I’ve had lots of nightmares. Most recently the bookshop fire,” He said it as if it were nothing, “I dream you’re dead. I’m pretty sure I have set anything on fire in my sleep though.”

“No, you haven’t,” Aziraphale gave a small smile, “I saw you die. In a storm of holy water.”

Crowley let out a shaky breath pulling Aziraphale back into his arms, “I’m fine. I’m here.”

Aziraphale wiped away his tears, “Did you sleep well? I mean before I broke your window and set fire to your apartment.”

Crowley smiled, “A little _too_ well. Like somehow my psyche was melded with someone else’s.”

Aziraphale fumbled nervously, “I- well, I felt the nightmare and tried to … balance it out.”

“Celestial merging is dangerous, angel,” Crowley stated sternly, pulling away, “You might have got trapped in my head. You don’t want to know the horrors I have up here.”

Aziraphale cupped the demon’s face, “I don’t fear you. I fear _to lose_ you.”

Crowley looked scared, like a deer in the headlights of his Bentley. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, every fibre of his being wanted to pull the angel into his arms, but every dark fear whispered how funny it would be when Aziraphale would inevitably push him away and tell him was being ridiculous. Instead, Aziraphale moved closer and placed a tentative kiss on Crowley’s mouth. Aziraphale moved his arms around Crowley’s slender waist and leaned heavily against his chest. Crowley held him for a moment before leaning back on his bed, Aziraphale laying over him. Aziraphale sighed and waved his hand, cleaning the mess he had made of Crowley’s room before tightening his arms around the demon once more.

“Angel?” Blue eyes stared up at him through the darkness, “Would you like to go for a picnic tomorrow?”

Aziraphale smiled, “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”


End file.
